


Photoshoot Fantasy

by rpfwriters



Category: Actor RPF, American (US) Actor RPF, Marvel Cinematic Universe RPF, Real Person Fiction
Genre: Alcohol, Drinking, Drunk Sex, Explicit Sexual Content, F/M, Gen, Language, RPF, Reader-Insert, Reader-Interactive, Smut, real person fiction - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-01-06
Updated: 2019-01-06
Packaged: 2019-10-05 15:19:03
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,796
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17327444
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/rpfwriters/pseuds/rpfwriters
Summary: While working on a photo shoot with your celebrity crush, he accidentally almost kisses you.





	Photoshoot Fantasy

His lips were almost touching yours, a firm press to the corner of your mouth, nothing more, the short hairs of his beard were pricking your skin, making you giggle. Before you could do something stupid like turn your head and kiss him, he was giggling and apologizing after the camera flashed.

“It… it’s okay,” you murmured, your hand on his chest, trying not to act like you didn’t want to grab his tie and pull him down for a real kiss, show him how you wanted it to be done.

Chris looked at you with those azure eyes and it made you gasp. “You alright?”

“Uh, ye- yeah,” you stammered, unable to look away.

The photographer cleared his throat loudly. “I hate to interrupt this semi-private moment, but Chris, you ready for the rest of the shoot?”

Blushing furiously, you knew that was your cue to leave. “Sorry, I’ll just uh, I’ll go.”

Chris’ arm tightened around your waist for a millisecond, flashed you a brilliant smile, and then let go, striding away from the set to get changed. You pulled in a ragged breath, and then another before you were sure your legs weren’t shaking too badly.

You were in the dressing room a few moments later, the chatter and giggles of other models grating on your nerves, quickly bringing you down from your almost-a-kiss adrenaline rush. With a roll of your eyes, you quickly got changed, grabbed your bag, and left. On the way past the large room, you stopped dead in your tracks at the sight of Chris, shirtless, on a bed, a sheet covering his lower half, and a woman beneath him. She was on her stomach, her breasts covered by the pillow she was on, and Chris was pressing kisses down the length of her spine.

It wasn’t like you meant to, but you made a noise that got the attention of just about everyone on the set. You squeezed your eyes shut, felt your skin flush, and prayed that Chris hadn’t heard it, but when you opened your eyes, you found him staring at you, a wicked smirk tugging at his lips. Swallowing hard, you ran away, not stopping until you were out of the warehouse and pulling in deep and ragged breaths of the crisp air.

* * *

You had just kicked your feet up onto the table and shoved your hand into the bowl of popcorn - extra butter, extra salt - when your phone rang. It was a number you didn’t recognize, so you ignored it, instead choosing to continue the scary movie you’d been amping yourself up to watch for the last six months.

Less than two minutes later, your phone rang again, making you jump since it was a tense scene. “For Christ sake, what?” you snarled into the phone.

There was a moment of silence before a vaguely familiar voice said something. “I uh, I know it’s late -”

“And I’m fuckin’ busy.” You slammed the pause button on the remote, throwing it to the side with a huff.

“Okay, um,” he murmured, the sound of it brushing against you like silk. “Is Y/N there?”

Wait… it couldn’t be, could it? No, it was late, you were tired, fear from the movie still making your stomach flip.

“Who is this?”

He chuckled low and that was when you figured it out. “It’s Chris, from the photo shoot earlier.”

“Get the fuck outta here,” you argued even though you knew it was him. Shit, Chris Evans was calling you, on your personal cell phone. Shit! Chris Evans had your phone number. “Really?”

There was that sexy as hell chuckle again. “I hope you don’t mind me calling. I know it’s late.”

“No,” you almost shouted. “I just… how   _did_ you get my number?”

“About that,” he murmured, a laugh coloring his voice. “I may have called the agency and said there was a family emergency.”

With your hand over your face, you hung your head. “Christopher Robert Evans,” you groaned. “You did not!”

“What’d you just call me?” he all out laughed, the rich sound of it washing over you, pulling goosebumps to the surface.

“Shit… I didn’t… I didn’t mean -”

“Nah, Y/N,” he continued to laugh. “It’s just… the only one to call me that is my ma.”

The breath you were holding came out in a rush. “So… to what do I owe the pleasure of a post-midnight phone call from Chris Evans?” you sassd, thankful he wasn’t there so he couldn’t see how red your neck and cheeks were.

“I wanted to talk to you about the photo shoot,” Chris breathed. You could hear the anxiety in his voice.

“It’s fine, Chris,” you said hurriedly. “I won’t say anything about it to anyone, the ki-, you don’t have to worry about that.”

“I uh, I’m not worried about that, Y/N.” God, the way your name sounded as it rolled off his tongue was downright sinful. “I wanted to apologize. I was just…”

You swallowed around the knot in your throat when his voice trailed off. “Just what, Chris?”

He huffed a laugh into the phone. “You’re fuckin’ beautiful, that’s what. I saw you and fuck, you made my heart stutter.”

It was your turn to laugh, but it was more bitter than you meant it to be. “Alright, you can cut the shit. Hahaha, very funny.”

“I don’t… what?”

“Who is this?” you demanded, your heart pounding heavily in your chest.

“It’s me, Chris.” he insisted, more vehemently than before.

Rolling your eyes, you moved the bowl of popcorn to the table and pushed up from the couch. “Whatever. Thanks for the call, douche.” And with that, you disconnected the call.

“Fuckin’ unbelievable,” you grumbled, scraping a hand over your face.

The worst part about getting pranked is believing what was happening was real. You should have known that Chris Evans would never be calling you, not in a million years. Whoever had  _actually_  called you was probably laughing it up, tears rolling down their cheeks at the gullibility you had shown.

You had just poured yourself a healthy helping of wine when there was a knock on your door. You had every intention of ignoring it, so you stood there, silently drinking for the next fifteen seconds, jumping when a second round of knocks sounded.

“That’s it,” you hollered, marching through the apartment. “I have had my fuckin’ fill of assholes today.” Ripping open the door, it took a moment before your eyes adjusted, recognizing the man towering over you.

“Hi,” Chris said shyly.

Shaking your head, you muttered, “Nope,” and slammed the door.

You quickly drank the rest of the wine and were fully prepared to march off to bed because you were exhausted and had started seeing things, that was the only explanation. Too much to drink, too little sleep. You could easily fix that, if only someone wasn’t knocking on your door.

After taking a long pull from the bottle, you slowly approached the door where your sliding lock was still scraping against the wood annoyingly. Another round of knocks, louder than the previous ones, echoed through the room. Holding your breath, you closed your eyes and opened the door, finally opening your eyes a handful of moments later.

“Still me,” Chris said, shoulders hunched against the cool night wind.

“Huh,” you chuckled, poking him in the chest. “So it is.”

One of his brows arched at the intrusion of your finger. “Are you… are you drunk?”

You giggled as the alcohol warmed you from the inside out. “Might be. What’s it to you, Mr. Evans?”

He watched as you took another drink, noticing the way your throat worked when you tipped your head back, the appreciative moan you made, and the way your breasts heaved. But the one thing he couldn’t help but notice was your lack of clothing.

You had long ago discovered that pants - even yoga pants and shorts - weren’t as comfortable as a plain old t-shirt and panties. Of course, you only wore that attire when you were in the privacy of your own apartment. Now, since you were pleasantly drunk, you didn’t seem to care that you, not only had company, but said company was a celebrity, and your foggy brain didn’t know how to cope with that.

Turning on your heel, you strode into the kitchen and pulled out a bottle of beer, exposing your simple white cotton clad ass to the man of your dreams.

“Come on, come on,” you huffed. “Lettin’ all the cold air in, man.”

Chris rushed in and shut the door behind him, accepting the beer with a curt nod, and watching intently as you dropped onto the couch.

You stared at him for a full minute before asking, “You gonna sit?”

“Yeah, if you want me to,” he said, running a nervous hand through his hair.

“Wouldn’t’a said it if I didn’t want you,” you couldn’t hide the giggle that bubbled in your throat, “to sit.”

He sat down on the opposite end of the couch as you, popped open the beer, and took a long drink. When he wouldn’t look at you, you pushed his knee with your foot, leaving it there because you really didn’t feel like moving it.

“I’m sorry for yelling at you on the phone,” you rasped.

“I’m sorry for almost kissing you,” he said at the same time, making the pair of you smile. “I wasn’t being professional.” When he looked at you, his eyes pierced through you, making you draw in a breath.

You gave a wave of your hand and rocked his leg once again with your foot. “Just took me by surprise, is all.” And then you remembered what he said on the phone, about how you made his heart stutter, how he called you beautiful.

“Did you mean it?” Apparently, the filter between your brain and mouth was broken, because you did not mean to ask him that. “Forget it,”you laughed, blushing as you rolled your eyes.

“No, don’t forget it,” he insisted, obviously knowing what you were referencing. He turned in his seat, set the bottle onto the table, and held your foot to his knee all in one fluid motion. “I meant it, Y/N. You’re… fuckin’ stunning.” His voice was thick and raw, heavy with honesty and lust.

Any cognitive thought you might have had was just blown away like dust. You surged towards him, grabbed the back of his neck, and straddled his thighs as you kissed him. Chris grabbed your ass and pulled, returning the frenzied kiss with a moan that you swallowed. He was rock hard against you as your chest heaved, and the pulsing weight between your legs made your cunt clench in anticipation.

“I couldn’t help myself,” you huffed after tearing your mouth from his.

Gnawing on his plump bottom lip, he dug his fingers into your ass. “Me neither.”

You were breathing heavily when you asked, “Are you okay with this?”

“God, yes,” was his answer. “How ‘bout you?”

“I’ve never been more sure of anything,” was your breathy response.

Chris grabbed the hem of your threadbare shirt and pushed it up and over your head, tossing it to the floor a second later. His mouth fell to one breast, his hand working the other, plucking and twisting your nipples expertly. Desperate for friction, you rocked against his denim-clad thick cock, shuddering in appreciation.

“God,” you whined, your fingers fumbling with his shirt. “Too many clothes.”

Before looking up at you with lust-blown pupils, Chris chuckled against your breast, sending a delicious vibration through you, all the way to your eager pussy. “Someone’s impatient.”

“Fuckin’ right,” you huffed, grabbing his belt buckle and tugging on it, jerking his hips between your thighs.

Chris did that incredibly sexy thing where he reached behind his head, grabbed the collar of his jacket and shirt, and pulled them over his head. They landed heavily on the floor just as you started popping open the buttons on his fly. You shoved your hand under the top of his boxer briefs and moaned heavily at the pulsing heat in your hand all while he shifted and pushed his jeans down until they were at his knees.

“Shit,” Chris snarled, his eyelids fluttering shut, fingers digging bruises in your thighs.

You stroked him, spreading the fat beads of pre-come with your thumb, twisting your wrist at the base of his cock, his short curls tickling your palm. The slick that was dripping from your pussy helped with lubrication while you continued to pump him. With a low moan, Chris slid two fingers between your damp folds, teasing your hole until you whimpered. Only then did he push them in, kissing you fiercely as the two of you fucked each other with your hands.

It only took a few minutes of Chris’ talented fingers dragging in and out, curling to find your sweet spot, stretching you before you coming. You came with a chorus of, “yes, there, harder,” and it was music to his ears.

He was kissing and praising you, telling you how beautiful you were when you came apart as he continued to stroke you, borderline reckless strokes turned to languid and relaxed, working you through it, relishing in the wet, sucking sounds your body was making. With his other hand, he tugged a condom from his wallet, which you took from him and ripped it open, rolling it down his thick shaft.

As you took him in your hand and notched the head of his cock just inside, your eyes had started to flutter when Chris said, “I want to see you.” He tucked some hair behind your ear and stroked your chin with his thumb.

You opened your mouth when the pad of his finger hit the crest of your bottom lip. As you sank down, you closed your lips around his finger, sucking on it, swirling your tongue around it, all while holding eye contact, and shit, it was the sexiest thing. Having sex was intense enough on its own, but  _watching_  the other person while having sex with them, it was a whole other level.

Once he was buried to the root, your head fell back as you moaned low and heavy. You’d never felt this full, like he was going to split you in half from the inside out. Chris ran his hands down your spine and grabbed your ass, grinding your bodies together.

“Shit, you’re so tight,” he hissed in appreciation.

“You’re so fuckin’ big.” The words were out of your mouth before you knew it, and once they were, you looked down at him and chuckled. “It’s true.” Chris shook his head in amusement before kissing you.

Taking control, you inched up and down his cock, fucking him slow and steady at first, rolling your hips, gasping at the new angle, at the way his cock hit your sweet spot. Chris had a handful of your hair and he yanked you down for a searing kiss. With your fingers digging into his wide shoulders, you rode him hard, driving your knees into the couch.

Chris planted his feet on the floor and grabbed your hips, pulling down at the same time that he thrust up, driving the air from your lungs, again and again, filling the room with continuous slaps of skin on skin, echoed by the couch hitting the wall, and the two of you, grunting and moaning.

“Need you… ugh, need you to come, baby,” Chris grunted, sweat on his brow, cock swelling, hips stuttering.

You were already there, thighs shaking, knuckles turning white, the explosion of stars behind your eyelids. Your back arched and Chris latched on to the bottom swell of your breast, sucking a dark bruise into your skin as he quickly followed you, grunting against you, cock spasming, his fingernails leaving crescent-shaped marks.

With your chest heaving, you watched as Chris fell back against the couch, his own breath tearing in and out of him. He looked well and truly fucked out, and shit, it was a good look on him. You pressed a kiss to his insanely pink lips as you stood, groaning at how empty you felt. If you could spend every waking minute filled to the brim by Chris Evans, you’d be a damn happy woman.

You grabbed the bottle of beer, took a long pull, and handed the rest of it to Chris. “I’m gonna take a shower.”

“Okay,” he rasped. “I can uh, do you…”

“Stay,” you answered his unasked question. “You can join me if you like.” You didn’t wait for an answer, just winked at him and strolled out of the room.


End file.
